Just A Kiss
by xFootprintsInTheSandx
Summary: It was just a kiss- one drunken, clumsy, awkward -utterly perfect- kiss. It meant nothing. So why can't Draco stop thinking about it? DM/HP slash. Oneshot.


**Rated T for language, and for some sexual themes. Hope you enjoy ;)**

Just a Kiss

There were three things that Draco knew, above all else. Three facts that would always be true, that would help him through life, as long as he remembered them.

1- He was gorgeous. Tall, lean, with silvery blonde hair and a softer version of his father's strong good looks. When he walked down the street, heads turned. Strangers would come up to him in bars and try to chat him up. Waiters would often slip their own telephone numbers in his checks at restaurants. And, if he was looking for someone to spend the night with, he could usually get anyone by a crook of the finger, a smouldering glance, and a slow smile.

2- Even if he wasn't able to get someone by his looks, he could play the rich card. He was the only son of the illustrious Malfoys, and would be inheriting the mounds of galleons and jewels when his father passed on. As it was, he could afford nearly everything he wanted- designer clothes, fast, expensive cars, a rich mansion in Berkshire by the sea. Gold-diggers queued up to be with him. If all else failed, he could always marry one of the girls, have more heirs, divorce her, and raise them himself.

3- He was absolutely not in love Harry Potter.

Draco frowned, twirling the quill in his fingers and squinting down at the last fact. A couple of years ago, he would have written, 'I would always hate Harry Potter'. But that wasn't entirely true, he reflected. After the war, he had joined the Auror training, determined to bring some good to the world after all the evil he had caused. After a year or so of vigorous training, Draco had been given his credentials and, to his horror, partnered with Harry Potter. The Boy Who'd Outshone Him Constantly At School, or whatever the bloody hell people were calling him these days. After lots of tense silences as they worked on cases, and random outbursts of violence, they had agreed on a shaky peace. And after that, they had somehow become friends. Being polite and courteous had changed into honest discussions and friendly jokes. Now, however, the awkwardness was coming back. There was something about Potter. . . something that definitely attracted Draco. He was handsome, funny, intelligent, and generally a good person. And Draco didn't want to feel anything. Ever.

He sighed heavily, putting down his quill and looking over the room towards Potter. He was bent over his parchment, his quill working frantically, His hands were tangled in his hair- cut shorter than it had been at school- more tamed, falling in curls around his forehead and ears. His skin was a light golden color, with a sprinkling of brown freckles, and he had huge green eyes with dark lashes framed by silver square glasses, and a full pink mouth. Draco dropped his head to the wooden desk with a dull thunk. He couldn't do this. Not now, after what had happened last Friday.

He thought back to that day with a heavy heart. Potter and himself had just finished the case they were working on. They had tracked down three known ex-Death Eaters who had escaped after the war, and a couple of new followers they had recruited. To celebrate this, Draco had brought a bottle of Firewhiskey and a couple of plastic cups, and they sat and drank together.

"Well done, us," Draco had said proudly, pouring a cup of Firewhiskey for Potter and sliding it across the table. He held up his own cup, and Potter tapped his against it. He took a gulp, wrinkling his nose as it burned his throat and tears sprung up in his eyes. Ah, he loved the stuff. He downed it all and crinkled his fingers around the plastic, leaving deep dents.

"I should say so." Potter sighed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I can't believe that Death Eaters are still trying to form around new Dark Lords. It's absolutely ridiculous."

Draco nodded, thinking about his father, and all the attempts he had made over the years. "Take it from someone who knows." Potter winced at that, and Draco remembered just how noble and guilt-ridden the other man was. "I didn't mean to-"

"Don't worry about it, Potter." He poured himself another drink, and took a small sip. "So, what's going on?" Draco changed the subject. "How's the Weaselette?"

Potter grimaced, but Draco wasn't sure if that was because of what he had called his longtime girlfriend, Ginny Weasley, or because he didn't want to talk about her. He dropped his cheek into his hand, staring down at the drink gripped tight and swirling it around. "She ended things, this morning," he muttered, his fingers momentarily tensing. "I have to meet up with her tonight and sort out our stuff,"

"Potter. . ." Draco didn't know what to say. He regretted ever bringing the subject up. "I'm sorry." He reached out and brushed the back of Potter's tense hand with his fingertips. Potter stiffened, which amused Draco. Which got him to thinking.

"So, Malfoy," Potter seemed to be changing the subject as well. "How about you? Have you found a nice guy to settle down with yet?"

Draco shrugged, crushing the plastic cup in his hand. He could feel the alcohol going to his head, and he felt slightly woozy. "Not quite." Potter had found out that he was, as his father put it, straight as a bent fork, a month or so after they had been assigned as partners, when he'd walked on in Draco shoving his tongue down another man's throat. It wasn't a pleasant experience, but Potter had taken it surprisingly well, apologizing and fleeing from the room like a rabbit from a wolf, and later, when Draco had popped in to explain things, he'd told Draco that 'he didn't really care who or what Draco was fucking, as long as he continued to work well as an Auror'. Draco figured that was probably going to be the best he could have hoped for. And Potter had been very accepting since, trying to set Draco up with all sorts of men. Now he stared intently at Potter. "Not just anyone will do, you know."

Potter ducked his head, his cheeks turning a pretty strawberry red. Draco watched this, fascinated, then another idea popped into his head. "Hey, Potter, have you ever kissed a bloke before?"

It was astounding, to see how far Potter could spit out Firewhiskey, when given the incentive. He coughed, sputtering, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "What?"

"Have you ever kissed a bloke before?" Draco repeated, thoroughly amused. "Maybe the Weaselette wasn't right for you because she was the wrong gender?"

"I. . . doubt it," Potter said weakly, He looked a little pale, Draco thought. Maybe he was sick.

"But have you ever tried it?" Draco persisted. Potter shrugged. "Would you like to?"

Potter shook his head so vigorously, Draco thought it might pop off. "Ah, come on, Potter," Draco said cheerfully, leaning over the table to tuck a stray curl behind Potter's ear, letting his knuckles brush across the curve of his cheek. "How can you know you hate something if you've never tried it?"

And Potter looked absolutely terrified, as Draco got to his feet, walking around the table while feeling like a panther stalking his prey. He grabbed Potter's arm and jerked him to his feet. Maybe it was the Firewhiskey, or maybe it was the fact that he had been subconsciously dreaming about this moment for months, but he secured Potter's shoulders in his hands and crushed his lips against the other man's, who had frozen.

The kiss. . . was clumsy, awkward, and slightly one-sided, but Draco wasn't going to give up so easily. He pulled away slightly, until his lips were just barely brushing Potter's, trying to be as gentle as possible so that Potter wouldn't run away. Potter's lips parted with a soft whoosh of breath, and he gave a soft moan from the back of his throat.

And then he was kissing Draco back, and it was perfection. His lips were soft, but he kissed with the same passion as he'd always had on the Quidditch field- determined and confident. His hand came up to the back of Draco's neck, tipping his head backwards as to have better access to his mouth. Draco twined his arms around Potter's neck, burying his fingers into the curls of black hair, pulling Potter closer. Their tongues clashed together, and it sent shivers down Draco's spine, the way they seemed to fit together naturally. Potter dragged Draco closer, so that every inch of them was pressing against each other, their chests flush against the other, their legs tangled. Draco could feel bruises blooming at his hips from where Potter's fingers dug in, but he didn't care. It was absolute bliss. He gave a soft groan as Potter pulled away, kissing his way down Draco's jawline.

It was that noise, maybe that brought Potter back to his senses. He jerked away as though Draco had burned him, reaching up to run his hand through his hair, Draco knew him well enough by now, to remember that this meant Potter was frustrated. "Malfoy. . ."

"Potter." His breath came out in a hoarse whisper, and he cleared his throat. Bloody hell, it was hard to concentrate when the man was standing in front of him, his cheeks flushed, his eyes overbright, his lips swollen and his hair utterly rumpled.

"I. . . I'm sorry, Draco." In spite of looking so utterly snogged, he managed to sound and look remorseful. "I'll . . . see you later?"

And like the coward he was, he had ran from the Ministry full speed without looking back.

...

Back in the present, Draco groaned, picking his head up from the desk and crashing it back down again. He rather liked the dull noise it made, and so continued to ram his head against the hard wood. He had to stop thinking about Friday, or his head would explode. He didn't even want to try to understand what was going on in Potter's head. And he thought girls had complicated emotions!

"Malfoy."

His head shot up, and he gave another inward groan when he realized that Potter was staring at him curiously. "You all right?" He asked, a slight smile playing around his mouth, and he looked so unbelievably gorgeous that Draco could only stare. "Malfoy?"

"Oh, right." He dropped his head to the desk again, feeling a bruise blooming on the top of his head. He didn't want to mar his perfect skin. "I'm fine. Just fine."

"You don't seem fine."

"Oh, you know Malfoy." A deep voice came from the door, and Draco picked his head up curiously to see Kingsly Shacklebolt, their boss and one of Potter's many friends, standing at the door, a file clutched in his hand. "Must be his time of the month." Draco glared, folding his arms over his chest and jutting his lower lip out. He watched, as Potter took the file folder and flicked through it. They spoke in low voices, so that Draco couldn't hear. Instead, he decided to make another list to straighten his thoughts out.

Things Draco Hates;

1- Being wrong. Draco was always right. And if he was wrong, he liked to pretend that that was his idea all along. Ever since he had started working with Potter, he had been wrong a lot. He didn't enjoy it one bit.

2- Freckles. There was something irritating about them. He was beginning to get a couple sprinkled across his nose. They marred the perfection. That was why Draco stayed inside most of the time.

He paused, looking at the second thing, then towards the door where Potter was gesticulating fervently. He had freckles, Draco remembered, a light dusting over his cheeks and nose. They were adorable. He might have to reconsider his views on that particular subject.

3- Constantly fantasizing about Harry Potter.

Because not being able to grab the man and kiss him into oblivion was taking a toll on Draco.

...

It was late out, and Draco was at his apartment. He missed his mansion. He usually stayed there full-time, but had found all the paperwork needed for apparating to the Ministry every day quite irritating, so had merely purchased an apartment in central London. It took up the entire top floor of the building, with five bedrooms, four bathrooms and lavish decorations. It was too overdone for his taste, but his mother had been pleased when she had visited, and that was all that had counted.

Now, Draco sighed, pulling out his telephone and punching in a number. Muggle technology was wonderful- especially take-out services. There was a particularly good Thai food place a couple blocks away, and he didn't feel like cooking. He settled back into the couch, after hanging up the phone, and sighed, trying desperately to think of anything but Potter. Merlin, he needed to be laid.

A knock on the door startled him. The take-out service was a lot faster than he'd thought. He padded over to the door in bare feet, and opened it. He did a double-take. There, standing shadowed in the doorway was exactly the man he had been trying not to think about it.

"Hey," Potter looked a bit embarrassed, his hands shoved into his pockets and his back hunched like a question mark. "Can I come in?"

It must have been raining outside, because Potter's shoulders and hair were wet and splattered with water droplets. Draco took his coat, and brought it toward the closet, where he hung it on a hook and watched as Potter hovered awkwardly near the doorway. "Come in. Sit down." Draco felt that he had to be hospitable. "What happened?"

Potter sighed, perching awkwardly on the couch as though there was nowhere he would rather be less. The thought pierced Draco like a thorn, and that made him more irritable than he would have been otherwise. "Ginny kicked me out," he said, reaching under his glasses to press the palms of his hands into his eyes. He looked and sounded utterly defeated. "All my stuff's in the car. Anyway. . . I've got no place to go, so. . . I was wondering. . ."

Draco thought he knew what Potter was getting at, but wasn't about to help him get there, after what he had done last Friday. "What about Granger? You should go stay with her and Weasley."

Potter grimaced slightly, and Draco noticed the dark circles under his eyes. "They've got a new baby- Rose. There's no way I'd get any sleep there. She's a sweet baby, but she doesn't stop crying. So I was wondering. . . if I could stay here tonight? You must have an extra room in this place." He looked around, taking in the rich wallpapers, the decorative furniture, and plush carpets.

"I suppose." Draco folded his hands and sighed. "I'll give you some sheets and toiletries, if you'd like them."

Another knock on the door caused him to jump to his feet and hurry over. The Muggle man looked like he had never met a bar of soap before, and he smiled and nodded and looked entirely confused as Draco thanked him, took the food and pulled out some Muggle money from who-knows where. He sighed satisfactorily at the delicious smell, and turned to Potter, who had been watching this exchange with amusement.

"Have you eaten?" Draco asked, feeling like a mother as he pulled two plates from the cabinet. "I ordered some Thai cuisine. There's enough for both of us."

"I'd love some." Potter followed Draco into the kitchen. It was a spacious room, light and airy and bare, and he seemed to relax. Who would have thought Potter was a cooking man? He slid the plate of food towards Potter, and sat on the opposite side of the table.

The food was delicious, as ever, and Draco shut his eyes in order to savor it more fully. He gave a little sigh. Utterly brilliant. He heard a throat clear and opened his eyes to see Potter, his cheeks tinged with pink, looking determinedly anywhere but at him. Oh, for God's sake. If Potter was going to be like this, than Draco would have to have some fun with it. But later.

"So what did Shacklebolt want?" Draco asked, taking a swig of water and looking up at Potter. He swallowed and put his fork down, looking worried. "Kingsley thinks there may have been an upsurge in magical activity near a certain part of France. He wants us to check it out for him."

Draco sighed, knowing what they would find- a group of middle-aged witches running an illegal love potion business. As they had the time before that. And the time before that. And before that. "Merlin's sake! Why can't we get any serious assignments?" He scowled, shoveling more rice into his mouth,

Potter looked suddenly sheepish, and Draco was suddenly suspicious. "Potter? What did you do?"  
"Well. . ." He was determinedly looking anywhere but at Draco. "I might have asked Kingsley not to give us any real _dangerous _assignments."

"Why?"

"It's not like you're not capable of standing up for yourself," Potter said quickly. "But. . . after all that's happened with your father, and your mother, and. . . stuff. . . I thought you might appreciate having some easy cases."

"Potter!" Draco barked, infuriated beyond words. "I don't need _you _to tell me what I can and cannot do! I don't want you going behind my back and fixing things with my boss! I hate secrets!"

He thought he saw a smile twitch on Potter's mouth, and fought to keep a straight face, before smiling gently. "That's very sweet, though," he told the other man. "Thanks for the concern."

Potter shrugged, looking quite awkward and busying himself with finishing off his plate of food. Draco smirked, scraping the last bits of rice from his plate and sighing, leaning back in his chair to watch Potter. He seemed incredibly uncomfortable, and kept glancing up and looking away when he saw that Draco was staring.

Finally, Draco sighed. "Look, Potter, we can forget that Friday ever happened." Potter's head jerked up, and he looked like a startled deer in headlights. Draco continued before he could interject. "We were both drunk. Nothing really happened. You can go back to your boring, straight little life, and I'll continue sleeping around with anybody that can walk." He paused, considering that. Would he actually be able to sleep with anybody after that kiss with Potter?

"Draco. . ."

"You don't have to tell me, Potter. I know that the guilt is riddling your noble little mind, and it doesn't have to. I haven't thought twice about it."

"You haven't?"

Unless he was imagining things, Potter actually sounded. . . disappointed? "Of course not," he lied through his teeth. "Anyway. I'll get you some sheets and pajamas." He shuffled off toward his own bedroom, opening the closet door and taking out a set of folded, pale blue sheets and an extra pair of his sleep-clothes- an emerald green color that he thought would bring out the color of Potter's eyes. He sighed at the thought of seeing Potter in them.

"Here you are," Draco handed the bedclothes over and folded the sheet over his arm. "I'll show you your room." He padded down the hall, Potter following close behind. He could practically feel the man's hot breath on his neck, and tensed his shoulders accordingly. The room that he had put out for his parents, not that they ever slept there, was closest, so he showed Potter inside. It was a modest room, and he made his way over to the bare bed, where he spread the sheets over it.

A flash of movement from near the door caught his eye, and as he turned to see what it was, he dropped the sheet clutched in his hand in shock. Potter was undressing- actually undressing- in front of him. He peeled off his tee-shirt, exposing a tan, lean chest, and pulled off his trousers, standing only in his boxers as he unfolded the pajama bottoms.

"You. . . . do know there's a bathroom right there, don't you?" Draco said weakly, aware of his rapid heartbeat and shortness of breathing. Potter, pulling the pajama over his long, muscled legs and not bothering with the shirt, turned his head and grinned mischievously over at Draco, who realized that Potter was doing this on purpose. He sniffed, irritated, and began tucking the sheet in, keeping his determinedly on the blue sheet, which was hard when there was such a lovely, lovely expanse of bare skin wanting to be ogled in front of him.

"I don't want to be a bother," Potter said sweetly, and a moment later there was another pair of hands helping him with the sheet. Draco swallowed, noting the dryness in his throat.

"Well, good night, Potter," Draco said as they finished making his bed. "I'll, er, see you tomorrow." He made his way quickly toward the door, feeling slightly like Potter, on that Friday night, It wasn't a happy thought.

A tanned arm blocked his way. Draco fixed his eyes on it, and turned slowly. Potter was so close to him that he could feel his body heat, and the scent of him- soap and linen and a cool cologne- made his head swim. "Yes?" Draco asked weakly, aware that he wouldn't be able to control himself if Potter didn't move away.

"Tell me," Potter said, his voice low and husky. "Tell me that what happened on Friday was just a kiss.."

Draco opened his mouth, probably to say something idiotic, such as 'errr' when Potter leaned forward and pressed his lips against Draco's for the second time. This was nothing like the first time, when it had been all about discovering, and experimenting. This was something different- pent up passion and desire spilling over at once. Draco gave a little gasp as Potter wrapped his arms around him and pushed him against the wall.

Potter was everywhere- his chest pressed against Draco's, his tongue invading his mouth, his hair tickling his cheek, the scent of him strong and desirable. Draco kissed back with just as much passion. This was what he had been dreaming about for the past couple of days. Maybe it was insanity, but he wanted Potter. Only Potter. And he was the only one who could have him.

Potter tore his lips away from Draco's, who gave a soft protesting sound. Potter ignored this, but rested his forehead against the blond's. "Draco," he sighed, and both the rush of breath mingling with his own, and the way Potter said his name nearly unhinged him. "Draco. I've wanted. . ."

"I know." Draco reached up and kissed him again, slow and sweet. Potter sighed as Draco pulled away. "I want to tell you. . . why Ginny ended things with me."

"Oh, for God's sake." Draco was suddenly exasperated. He didn't want to hear about that she-devil one more time. He elbowed Potter in an attempt to get away from the man before he lost it. "I don't want to be second-best to some red-headed-"

"No, Draco, that's not. . ." He reached out and grabbed the other man, securing him in place. "Since Friday. . . I couldn't stop thinking about you. I thought I was going insane. Ginny. . .wanted me to be with her, and I just couldn't. I kept picturing you, and it felt. . . wrong." Draco stared. He'd never seen the man at a loss for words before. This must be some kind of phenomenon.

"She asked me what was wrong. And I told her. . . I said that I didn't love her the same way anymore. I told her that I thought I loved someone else. I think she was expecting me to marry her one day. She went crazy. She started throwing things and screaming. . ."

"But on Friday, you told me that you had broken up with her in the morning," Draco said, his voice weak with shock. Potter nodded robustly. "I did. We got into a fight. She wanted a baby, like Hermione. I told her I didn't want one with her. She told me to go to hell." He smiled a little bit. "Anyway, I didn't mean to talk to you about that."

Draco was still in shock. "You told her you loved me?"

He winced. "Sorry. But. . . yeah, I think I might."

And he looked so beautiful in the low light, his face earnest and open and utterly kissable. Which is exactly what Draco did, taking Harry's face between his hands and pressing a light kiss to his lips to convey his feelings for the other man as well. Harry sighed, folding Draco into his arms, where it was utterly warm and perfect. Draco hummed against Harry's bare skin as the other man kissed and licked at Draco's neck, all Draco could think was that they wouldn't be needing the pajamas, or extra room, after all.

As he grabbed Harry and towed him down the hall toward his own bedroom, he wondered if something was wrong with him. He hadn't had a mean-spirited thought in. . . well, ever since Potter had got there. He'd have to straighten things out. He smiled over at Harry in anticipation.

Three Benefits to Dating Harry Potter

1- He was famous, which would definitely put Draco's picture in the paper more than a few times, once the news came out that Harry was gay. Or bisexual. Or sleeping only with Draco. Because Draco wasn't willing to let him experiment. Anyway.

2- He was rich- which means Draco's parents would be thrilled at the latest match, once they got over the fact that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, arch nemises, might-just maybe- love each other.

3- He made Draco happier than he'd ever been before.

**Author's Note- review?**


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